Last Christmas
by LadyKailitha
Summary: Last Christmas John gave Mary his heart. This year, he'll give it to someone special. Sherlock.
1. Part One - Last Christmas

**A/N: Another Christmas song fic idea that wouldn't leave my head. Last year it was Christmas Wrapping by the Waitresses, this year it's Last Christmas by Wham!**

 **This was the original idea for Christmas but when this went from my normal length to take on novel proportions, I wrote another story that I could post on Christmas with good humor. Instead of bawling my eyes out that I failed to finish this story on time.**

 **So, the other story "All I Want For Christmas is You" will be up tomorrow. And this story will update every Saturday I can. I have three chapters (including this one) that are completely ready for publication. So I hope that three weeks is more than ample to time get the rest of it written, typed up, and edited by the marvelous, Old Ping Hai, who manged the impossible and convinced me not give up on this.**

 **Thank you, darling!**

 **Also this story is divided into two parts: Last Christmas, where John gets his heart broken. And This Christmas where it chronicles the gradual falling in love with Sherlock, culminating in John giving his heart to Sherlock.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

John was excited about Christmas for the first time since he was a small child. He and Mary were meeting up with some friends in Scotland, hoping for enough snow to get in a little bit of skiing. And if the weather report was right, they would have quite the storm with lots of lovely snow. But John was excited for another reason. After dating Mary for six months, he was going to propose.

He had bought the ring about a week ago and he was practically vibrating with pent-up happiness. It was a wonder that Mary didn't suspect something. Well, to be fair she _had_ asked what had gotten into him lately, but John just told her that he couldn't wait to spend their first Christmas together. That seemed to appease her, and John was a little more careful about how much he excitement he showed around her, in case she figured it out.

The ring was currently in Mike's possession. He didn't want Mary to accidentally stumble on it. And since the cabin belonged to Mike's parents, it was perfect. Mike would bring the ring with him and then slip it to John when the time was right. Of course, having the ring out of sight did nothing for his nerves. The last few hours before they had to leave for the cabin, John texted Mike incessantly.

He only stopped when Mike sent, _Chill out. It's in my bag. And if you send one more text about it, I'll tell Divya it's for her._ Divya was Mike's long-term girlfriend and would love a ring on her left hand from Mike. He bit back the fear and anxiety and placed his trust in Mike. He knew Stamford had never let him down and now was not the time to start doubting the friend who got him through advanced chemistry.

John typed back a brief apology and went to make sure that his and Mary's skis were securely strapped to the top of his car. He walked out, and Mary was by the car, squealing in excitement.

"You ready to go, love?" John asked as he tugged on the straps.

"Yes," Mary said, jumping up and down. "Skiing in Scotland? Who knew?"

"Me and Harry used to go almost every year, so me?"

Mary waved him off. "Your parents are Scottish, you don't count," she teased.

John smiled. "All right, last call. Anything else you need to grab from the flat?"

"Nope," she replied with a wink and a grin.

The drive up to Mike's cabin was uneventful except for the storm arriving a bit early. By the time they got to the place, the snow was coming down in sheets. It was almost a complete whiteout. When they pulled up the drive, Mike came running out to greet them.

"Oh thank god!" Mike huffed. "I wasn't sure if you two were going to make it. It's really coming down out here."

"Yeah, it came much faster than anyone could have predicted," Mary said, looking behind her into the storm.

"You okay, love?" John asked, joining her on her side of the car.

"Yeah, I just hope there isn't anyone caught in that," Mary shuddered. "It would be dreadful."

Mike shook his head, "There are no other cabins for miles. But I made sure the cabin was well stocked with emergency gear and food."

Mary nodded, but she looked out into the night again and this unease settled on John. He shook it off and got his and Mary's things into the, well it was too big to be considered a cabin now that John had seen it. Lodge was a closer term. It certainly looked big enough for all five of them to be more than comfortable for the week.

"Did Molly come up with you or did she drive herself up?" John asked as he got the skis down from the roof of the car.

"She came up with us," Mike replied.

John nodded and went in carrying all of their luggage and the skis.

Mike called out to Mary as she stood staring into the dark. She jolted as if she had been awakened from a dream and followed him to the lodge. Mike looked out into the darkness, but not seeing anything closed the door tight against the storm.

* * *

John was standing next to the large fireplace that framed the back wall of the lodge. The kitchen, dinning area, and sitting room were not separated by any walls. It was just wide open and cozy. The upstairs had three bedrooms but much to the ladies' dismay, only one bathroom.

John took a sip of the spiced apple cider that Divya had brewed up and watched as she and Molly and Mary set to decorating the interior with Christmas decorations. The tree was up and the ornaments on. There was holly on the chimneypiece and tinsel was beginning to sprout _everywhere_. Mike hurried away from the ladies and sidled up to John.

"So, you've been banished, too?" John asked, taking another sip of his drink.

"Escaped. The word you're looking for," Mike replied, "is 'escaped'."

John laughed. "Thanks for having us."

"It's no trouble, someone should use this place," Mike said bitterly.

"Why?"

"My parents spared no expense. There is a large generator, a walk-in pantry, a tankless water heater, a state of the art kitchen, hell this damn fireplace cost at least £7000. You want to know when the last time they came up here was?"

"When?" John obligingly asked.

"When me and my brother Rupert were kids."

"Ouch."

Mike cracked his neck. "It's a waste. They should just sell it, but they keep saying they'll come back up here. They're retired and they still haven't made the effort."

"I'm sorry, Mike. But it's lovely to be up here."

"Yeah, I know," Mike sighed. "Come on, let's get that little present out of my bag and into yours. The last thing either of us need is Divya actually finding it and getting us _both_ in trouble."

John laughed.

He looked back at Mary and that unease came back as she playfully argued that red tinsel was better than silver. He shook it off. It was probably the storm, making him anxious.

* * *

The fire was burning low and they were starting to feel drowsy enough for bed. The wind howled through the chimney and then there was a pounding at the back door.

At first they thought it was just the wind, but then there came three distinct thumps, hard against the wood. John and Mike jumped up and ran for the door. Divya and Mary covered Molly, Divya holding the fireplace shovel as a shield. John had picked up the poker as he followed Mike to the back door.

The two men stood waiting at the door. Then the thumping returned, a little weaker, a little more desperate. As they were now closer to the sound, they could hear plaintive cries for help over the shrieking of the wind.

John dropped the poker and leapt for the door, pulling it open before Mike could holler for him to wait. The wind threw the door open wide and four bundled figures fell through, the one in the back falling on top of the other three.

John shouted for the women and they sprang into action. Mary and John called out the orders to the others for blankets, to boil water, and to stoke the fire back to full blaze. Mike began pulling off the wet outer layers of the travelers. Afterwards he spread the coats and sweaters to dry over any surface he could find that didn't have a warm body on it.

Warm tea was pressed into frozen fingers and cold toes were placed in water to thaw, hot water slowly added to warm up the extremities.

Once sufficiently defrosted, the travelers were revealed to be a brunet, an auburn-haired fellow, a blond, and silver-haired man. The blond seemed to be keeping his back to the group of friends.

"What are you blokes doing clear the hell out here?" John asked the main three.

"My brother wouldn't know how to use a GPS if it bit him on the arse," the youngest sneered.

"I know how to use one just fine, Sherlock," the older of the two brunets sniffed. "The one on our rental was clearly programmed by an idiot. Mummy will be displeased."

"Mummy? To hell with your mother, Mycroft," the silver-haired one snapped. "I'm displeased. You promised me Christmas with the Queen, not lost, frozen, and wet in the middle of nowhere!"

Mike and John shared a shocked glance.

"I hope you don't really mean that, Gregory..." Mycroft said softly.

Greg wilted. "Of course not, My, I'm just tired."

Mycroft nodded, but Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"We were on our way to Balmoral and because those two wouldn't stop making googly eyes at each other I decided to sleep through the sickeningly sweet glances. Little did I know I was putting my fate in the hands of the two most inept, directionally challenged idiots on the planet."

"Sherlock!" Mycroft protested.

"At least we weren't the only ones," Sherlock thumbed at the blond behind him, "this idiot got stuck in the snow in a sports car at the bottom of the hill."

Mary sighed and cocked her head to one side. "David, please tell me you didn't try to bring your Jag up to the Highlands."

The blond slowly turned around and with a weak smile, "Surprise!"

"David?" John asked, "Who's David?"

Mary rolled her eyes. "He's an old friend of mine. I was telling him that we had an odd number and he wanted to come."

"I wanted to surprise you, babe," David insisted. "I know you said that you just wanted to be up here with your doctor friends, but I couldn't bear the thought of poor Molly being all by her lonesome surrounded by happy couples, now could I?"

Molly sighed. "I don't need your help, David."

Mike looked at her. "Wait, you know him, too?"

"I've seen him a couple times at Mary's before she moved in with John," Molly hedged.

"I've never seen him," John said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and settling all his weight on his back foot, jealousy radiating up his form.

"And that would be why, dear," Mary explained and kissed his cheek.

David grinned at John, who couldn't help but think he was in competition for something.

"Wait," Greg asked holding up his hand. "David the Idiot knows who you lot are, but the three of us are lost." John immediately took a liking to Greg.

"Speak for yourself, George," Sherlock sneered.

"Greg!" he snapped back.

"We know their names. If you were paying attention when they were trying to fight off our hypothermia," Sherlock replied smugly.

"Sherlock, this is no time to show off," Mycroft warned.

"Why not? It's what we do," Sherlock said. "The first three you should already know if you were listening to the current drama with David the Idiot, as Gavin aptly named him."

"Greg!" Mycroft hissed.

And that nickname for David was a mark in Sherlock's favor as far as John was concerned.

"John is the blond; as David pointed out they are all in the medical profession, but his style is different from Mike, the chubby civilian. He immediately took charge, could be the head of an A&E, but his close-cropped hair and the fact that he is currently standing at parade rest suggests military. Recently out. I'd say about a year and from the way he favors his left shoulder, invalided out."

John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock winked.

"So that's two. How do we know that the chubby one is called Mike? Because when the door opened John yelled 'We have to do something, Mike!' when the chubby one protested helping strangers. Now, that could have been any of the girls. Mike can be short for Michaela but we know that the blonde is Mary as David the Idiot told us. And Molly is the mousy thing who was offended at his suggestion being her partner for the holiday. That leaves the Indian woman and the chubby doctor. And since it was the two men at the door and the women didn't come until called, Mike it is. Which leaves the remaining lovely lady. Mike told a Divya to get the blankets, that tells us that she is Divya."

"Also, Mike is a general practitioner who has been out of rotation for a while, but knows what to do in theory. Professor then. Now Molly and Divya left John, Mike and Mary to do the actual doctoring, which suggests that while they are doctors, they are not in professions that deal with people. They both mildly smell of disinfectant. But as Molly would know, that no matter how hard one tries, one just can't quite get the smell of formaldehyde out of one's hair. A pathologist, who specializes in post-mortums then.

"Now Divya was quite the pretty puzzle. She didn't have the smell of formaldehyde, but still that lingering smell of disinfectant. But what would she do that would require her to want to bathe in the stuff? Infectious diseases. That, and she mutters the scientific names of diseases when she's trying to concentrate."

Divya laughed. "Well done!"

"You didn't tell everyone what I was," Mary said with a huff.

"A nurse, of course."

Greg blinked at him, "Come again."

"David never said _she_ was doctor, he said her doctor friends, indicating that she wasn't. But she was very capable and even better at the actual work than John. Which means that she is a nurse, not a doctor."

"Incredible!" John breathed.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Hey, well will you look at that, I updated on time. But to be fair I have four chapters done, written, typed up, and edited. This is the second chapter, so I have two more to put up after this. And a third that will be edited on Monday, so be rest assured that for the next three weeks, I'll be on time then. The problem lies in that nothing is even remotely done after that. It's not even written. But I'll try to get it done well before the 28th so that I can up it that day.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

They made proper introductions, of course. They were British, after all. Sherlock was apparently a consulting detective and worked with the police on occasion. And if Sherlock was to be believed, his brother was the British government. Somehow in the introductions, it was missed what Greg did.

After a bit of arguing, the women agreed to share the largest room, with Greg and Mycroft taking the smallest, David took the sofa, much to John's relief, leaving him with Mike and Sherlock.

There was a little bit of a show of moving the luggage of the house guests to their new, and with any luck, temporary roommates. Then they spent the night swapping stories about themselves and slowly one by one, they drifted off to their accommodations. The last ones to leave David to his bed were Sherlock and John, the latter completely entranced with the former and his stories about being a consulting detective in London.

It wasn't until David pointedly reminded them that they could continue their conversation in _their_ room did John bank the fire and turn in for bed. He let Sherlock borrow his toothbrush, as the other man's belongings were in the Land Rover that had been abandoned when it had stalled out due to the storm. They moved in rhythm and John flashed him a smile in the mirror, causing the young man to blush.

When they got to their room, Mike was sound asleep on the king sized bed. He had taken the far left side so that John and Sherlock could just slide in once they got to bed. And after a couple of rounds of Roshambo, which John lost horribly each time, Sherlock took the other side, John sandwiched between the doctor and the detective. John snorted to himself. That sounded like the title of one of Molly's sordid romance novels that she denied reading.

The next morning, John woke up with an urgent need to relieve himself and no clue of how to accomplish this without waking up Mike or Sherlock. He was thinking about just shimmying to the foot of the bed when Mike woke up and mindlessly made for the one bathroom. John followed close on his heels so that he could at least be second in line for the loo.

John tapped his foot impatiently, refusing to do the toddler potty dance, but the need was starting to get a bit dire. Mycroft was the next to emerge from the bedrooms. He glared at John and the closed door to the bathroom.

"Whose brilliant idea was it to have only one bathroom in a place this size?" he groused, falling in line behind John.

"Sadists," Mike muttered, opening the door and strolling out. "Which is to say my parents. But they did put in a tankless water heater, so they weren't complete bastards."

This pronunciation was greeted by sighs of relief from Mycroft and Molly, who had come out, too.

John took his turn, brushing his teeth and taking a quick shower. Just because the heater would last, didn't mean he had to make the others wait too long for their turn. He walked out and stopped short. Either the water was louder than he thought or the bathroom was soundproof. Because what he saw before him was Greg glaring at the now very long of people waiting to use the loo, tapping a police baton on the palm of his other hand.

Noticing John's look of surprise as Mycroft slipped past him into the room behind him, Greg huffed out a laugh. "We had a couple of line jumpers. It's been a while since I had to do riot control, but this lot is soft in comparison."

"Come again?" John asked, moving to stand next to Greg and getting out of Molly's way.

"I'm a cop. Detective Inspector, in fact. Homicide division. Found this little beauty," he raised the baton, "in the inside of the pocket of my coat. I've gotten so used to its weight, I forget it's there most of the time." Greg shrugged. "Came in handy today, though."

John laughed. "I accidentally did that once with my service pistol. Had it on my hip when I went over to a girl's house. We were making out on her sofa and she found it. Totally went mental."

"I'm guessing that relationship didn't last long," Greg commented, dryly.

"God no," John agreed. "Not every girl loves a soldier."

Mary laughed.

John left Greg to his line control and went in search of Mike. He found his friend pulling out pots and pans from under the kitchen sink.

"Have we got enough food for our four unexpected guests?" John asked, instantly going for the coffee machine and getting it started as well as turning on the kettle for the tea drinkers.

"Four is better than thirteen," Mike teased. "But look in the fridge."

John went to the fridge and opened it, "I swear, Mike if that's another short joke, I'll–" John stopped short. The fridge was packed with food. "Jesus Christ! There's enough food in here to feed my entire old unit for a week, maybe more!"

They got to work fixing up a full fry-up. Divya was the first to come down.

"Coffee's done, love," Mike said when she came to kiss him on the cheek good morning.

"My hero!" she cried, and then kissed him full on the lips.

"I'll take the credit and the reward, but John's the one that got the coffee going for me," Mike said, blushing.

Divya came up and kissed John full on the lips as well.

"Oi!" Mike cried. "Find your own!"

"It wasn't me!" John protested.

Divya poured herself a cup of coffee and without putting anything in it at all drank half the cup. She put down the cup and wrapped her arms around Mike. "You know I love only you, right?"

"Yeah," Mike huffed and kissed her cheek. "It's because he's blond and a soldier."

Divya laughed. "Nah, he just makes really good coffee."

"See, Mike?" John replied, "It's purely cupboard love."

Mary had come down and she patted him on the cheek on the way to the coffee machine. "I know it's one of the reasons I keep him around."

It wasn't until she had almost finished her first cup of coffee did she properly greet her boyfriend. "Morning, John," she said pecking him on the cheek. "Thank you for the coffee. You know I'm a beast without it."

John rolled his eyes and continued helping Mike fix breakfast for nine people. He felt a small pang for the gentle, sweet relationship that Mike and Divya shared. But he knew Mary wasn't like that and love was about compromise.

Once he and Mike got everyone served, they grabbed their own mugs and plates and went to sit down. Mike sat down in the open spot to Divya's left. John looked for Mary, but she was flanked by Molly and David. David smirked. But Molly went to stand up.

"Oh gosh, John!" she exclaimed. "Of course you'll want to sit next to Mary. I'll move."

Mary looked up at her friend, "You'll do know such thing, John is fine sitting across from me. Aren't you, dear?"

John inwardly bristled, but outwardly said, "Of course, love. I'll just sit next to our captivating detective."

Sherlock blushed and Mary scowled. John gave her a wink, sat down next to Sherlock and immediately started asking questions about his cases, and Sherlock regaled them with tales that seemed straight out of fiction.

* * *

After breakfast was cleaned up, John and Mike offered to help Mycroft's group unearth their Land Rover and get them on their way to Balmoral.

"David, you need a hand, too?" John asked as Mike dug out as many shovels as he could find.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," David said with a smile. "I'm staying the week with you all."

"Is Mike okay with that?" John asked with a frown.

"Oh, I'm sure that won't be a problem," Mary replied. "I'll talk to Divya while you're gone." When John's frown deepened, she pecked him on the cheek. "Don't be like that, dear. It'll all work out, I promise."

Mike came out and said, "All right, let's get you lot on your way."

"I'll be happy to leave, I assure you," Mycroft groused.

"Hey, don't be like that, My," Greg soothed. "It was nice of them to take us in and not only provide a warm place to stay the night, but breakfast. They didn't have to do any of that."

Mycroft's face crumpled and he looked at Mike and John who were steadfastly looking elsewhere. "I did not mean to sound ungrateful. Of course, I appreciate all that you've done for us. I'm just concerned about Mummy. I could not get any reception up here, and she must be over her head with worry."

"It's fine," John said.

"If you only said had something before," Mike said, swinging his shovel around. "I have a satellite phone back at the lodge that you could have used. In fact, once we get you unburied, I'll let you use it before you go, so you can let her know you're on your way."

"Thank you," Mycroft replied. "I'd be ever so grateful."

They passed David's Jag and found Mycroft's rented Land Rover closer to the road sign that let people know that they were entering private property than to the actual road itself. The five men dug into to the snowbank, careful not to damage the vehicle.

After a couple of hours they had cleared the SUV. Mycroft climbed into the driver's seat and tried to start the engine. It made no sound and refused to turn over. At first they thought it was the battery, but when Mike came back with his SUV and tried to jump it, still it refused to come to life.

Mike had also brought the satellite phone and the Yellowpages. After calling several mechanics, it was clear that they weren't going anywhere soon. Most of them were closed for the holiday and those who weren't, couldn't make it up the mountain until some of the snow had cleared, Monday at the earliest. It appeared that they were stuck until after Christmas.

"Well, grab your things," Mike said. "Looks like you're stuck with us for the weekend. Me and Div will be happy to have you."

Sherlock grumbled as he threw open the boot and began tossing their bags at Greg.

"Oi! Carry your own stuff!" Greg growled.

"All that is Mycroft's," Sherlock replied with a huff.

Greg looked down at the three bags and then raised an eyebrow at his lover.

"I have a very fine beauty regimen that I must follow. My skin is already in distress after using whatever it was that was in the bathroom."

Mike and John rolled their eyes while Sherlock muttered something about a pig's ear. John grabbed a couple of Mycroft's bags so that Greg didn't have to carry them all. Mike helped Sherlock with the rest of their things.

* * *

Divya and Molly were in the kitchen area preparing lunch and hot coffee for Mike and John when they returned.

"I hope they can get the car fixed," Molly said as she helped cut vegetables for Divya's curry.

"Oh?" Divya asked with a smile. "I would have thought that you would have wanted them to stay considering the googly-eyes that you've been making at that dishy detective."

Molly blushed. "He's not so bad and Greg's nice, too. But the older one gives me chills. It's like he can see straight through you."

"Maybe that's what Greg likes about him," Divya said with a salacious wink.

Molly ducked her head. "I suppose. I guess with it being Christmas and all, and everyone seems to have paired up but me, I'm feeling a little out of place."

"There's always David."

"Yeah, no. I'm not about to take Mary's leavings. They dated, you know?" she said.

"I'm not entirely sure either one is over it," Divya replied.

"Not all of us meet the love of our lives and find that they can tolerate your weird job," Molly groused.

"I met Mike _because_ of my weird job," Divya said with a laugh.

"How'd that happen?" Molly asked.

"I was lecturing on rare diseases and Mike was there. He came up afterwards and asked me to drinks so he could ask me more in-depth questions. The rest is history."

Molly put her knife down and sighed. "Lucky you. Most men either recoil or lean in too close when I tell them I do post-mortems."

"You'll find someone, and if you don't, maybe learn to be a little happier in your own skin, eh?"

Divya was putting in the last of the spices when everyone returned, including those who were supposed to have left.

"Looks like we'll be having our guests stay a little longer," Mike said with a smile.

Mary and David, who had been coming down the stairs together, groaned in unison. The sleeping arrangements would stay an inconvenient mess.

Divya laughed. "The more, the merrier. I just fixed up some curry, please have some, sit. I'll take your things." She grabbed the luggage from Greg and motioned to Molly to help her.

Molly was relieved to be given something to do and hoped that their guests didn't see her blush. It was going to be a long weekend.


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: Oh dear! I almost forgot to post this. It's been a hell of a week. You see, my husband and I celebrated ten years of marriage on Thursday and nearly seventeen years of being a couple, so it was kinda a big deal.**

 **But! I know that at least on the east coast of America, it is still Saturday and it still counts.**

 **But this is the last chapter of part one. Enjoy!**

* * *

Christmas dawned and Mike went around rousing sleepyheads from their beds, squealing like a child and shouting "Wake up, wake up! How can you still be in bed? It's Christmas!" He wouldn't leave until every one of them was downstairs and seated around an already blazing fire.

There was a slight hiccup in the seating, however. Mary sat down on one end of the sofa and Molly the other. John made his way to the open spot between them, but David leapt over the back and slid down between them.

David smirked as he threw out both his arms and settled firmly between the women. John wasn't about to let David the Idiot ruin his Christmas. He sat down in the arm chair next to Mary's side of the sofa and quick as wink, grabbed her arm and hauled her on his lap. She let out a startled laugh and then made herself comfortable. Molly looked at David and then rolled her eyes. She stood up and sat next to the tree to pass out presents.

David crossed his arms in front of his chest as Mycroft and Greg squeezed him out to the far side of the sofa. Far away from his intended target.

They opened presents and had a good laugh over the gifts and their givers. David didn't have any to open as he has been a surprise, but he sat there like a cat in the cream, like he'd already gotten the Christmas present he wanted.

When John had given Mary her present of a beautiful bird brooch, she didn't look happy as much as she looked relieved. Relieved it wasn't something else. And that unease about the whole weekend returned.

After presents Molly and Divya decided to give John and Mike a break from fixing their meal and went to make scones.

Sherlock came to stand next to Mary and John, shifting from one foot to the other. Mary looked him over and then laughed. Sherlock's back stiffened and he glared at her. He opened his mouth and then looked over at Greg, who shook his head.

He turned on his heel and stormed off.

"What the hell was that?" John asked Mary after a moment of silence.

"What was what?" Mary asked innocently.

"You laughing at him? He was trying to ask us something," John pressed.

Mary scoffed. "Not us, John. You."

John jerked his head back. "What difference does that make?"

"I've never seen anyone with so blatantly having a crush on someone," Mary explained as if she was talking to a small child.

John stood up and Mary was forced to leap to her feet or be dumped on the floor. "I'm going to apologize. I know you won't."

"It's just funny, John."

John clenched his fists and looked over at David. "And Sherlock isn't the one with the most blatant crush, Mary."

There weren't many places that Sherlock could go, so it didn't take John long to find the lanky detective on the front porch, smoking.

John moved to sit next to him on the stoop and said, "You know those things will kill you, right?"

"Yes, but not for a long time, so..." Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and John laughed.

"Fair enough," John agreed. He looked out at the idyllic scenery and huffed out a breath, creating a cloud of steam next to Sherlock's exhale of smoke. "I want to apologize for Mary. She's not usually like this. We were expecting only five of us for skiing and merriment, not nine of us and everyone double or tripling up in the bedrooms."

Sherlock snorted.

John stared at him for a moment before giving up trying to figure out what the younger man was thinking. "Anyway, what was it you wanted?"

"When we were talking that first night, you said that you once had this great book on poisons back at uni, but you lost it. The title seemed familiar so I consulted my mind palace, and came up with that I actually own the book you were talking about..."

"Wait, you wanted to tell me you have the book? No, back up. What's a mind palace?"

"It's a memory technique where you attach a memory to place you've been before and by recalling the place you are able to find the memory easier," Sherlock explained.

"And you have a palace?"

"Of course," Sherlock took another puff of his cigarette. "I wasn't just going to tell you I had the book. I was going to ask you for an address to send it to." Sherlock thanked the cold so that his blush could be explained by the frigid temperature.

"Oh, that's very kind of you," John said, amusement and delight coloring his tone. "May I borrow your phone?"

Sherlock looked at him a moment and then pulled it out. He unlocked the screen and handed it to John.

After a couple minutes John handed the phone back to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at the newly created contact in surprise. "You provided your number as well?"

"Yeah," John said. "I really enjoyed our time together this weekend and would like to see you again when we get back to London. Maybe go for drinks or something."

"Thank you," was Sherlock's quiet murmur.

"Just don't tell Mary," he replied with a wink.

Sherlock laughed.

* * *

Once John had smoothed things over with Mary, the next problem became getting her to sit still long enough to propose. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was avoiding him.

At dinner, he sat next to her and whispered in her ear, "I want to keep you forever."

She laughed out loud, causing everyone to focus on them. "Oh, John. You are so sweet."

"I mean it," John said. "I want to spend my life you."

She laughed again. "It's a bit early for that, don't you think?"

John gulped and the weight of the ring box in his jeans pocket suddenly felt massive.

"Of course, love," John choked out.

"We haven't been dating that long," Mary insisted.

"No, you're right," John agreed. He felt foolish and wished the ground would swallow him up.

Mike had to do something. This was just too painful to watch. He looked at Divya and his round face lit up like the Christmas tree.

"Hey, John?" Mike called out. John forced his head to look up at his friend. "You still have that surprise I had you hold on to for me. The one for Divya?"

John frowned and then looked down at his pocket. His mouth formed an "O".

"What surprise?" Divya asked.

"Yeah," Mary agreed. "What surprise?"

John dug the black box out of his pocket and tossed it to Mike, who caught deftly in one hand. The two women shared expressions of shock as Mike got down on one knee in front his long-time girlfriend.

"Divya Kapoor, the love of my life. My eternal rose, will you marry me?"

Divya screamed yes and covered her new fiancé with kisses.

"Oh what the hell," Greg said, pulling Mycroft on his lap. "I was going to ask your parents first, but you might have figured it out by then."

"Gregory?" Mycroft asked, softly.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Sherlock cried, throwing his arms in the air.

"I know we haven't been dating long," Greg looked over at Mary, who blushed. "But we've know each other for years before that, will you marry me?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Mycroft whispered joyfully in his lover's ear.

With everyone's attention on the other newly enfiancéd couple, John mouthed "Thank you" to Mike, who nodded.

David was the only one not in on the celebrating. "What an idiotic thing to do, propose at Christmas, everyone knows if you're going to propose on a holiday, you do it on Valentine's Day."

Molly glowered at him. "Well, I think it's romantic. And you won't be sharing your day with millions of others. Though, apparently, it's a little more common than I thought," she said with a wink at Greg and Mycroft.

Greg laughed. "To be fair, I _was_ going to propose on New Years."

Mycroft nuzzled Greg's neck. "I like this better."

"Me, too."

Sherlock started making gagging noises as John nudged him with his shoulder. Maybe it was better this way, maybe he needed to step back and let him and Mary happen naturally.

John decided to put some distance between him and Mary so that he could see the relationship with a fresh perspective. So all night, while everyone celebrated the season and the happy couples, John watched Mary interact with his friends.

And Sherlock watched the watcher.

* * *

Morning came and the mechanic came and went. It was time to say goodbye to Mycroft, Greg, and Sherlock.

Mary, Molly, and David were relieved that they were leaving at last. Though for Molly it was a jumbled bag of emotion, she mostly felt relief. Divya was right, she needed to like herself before she started crushing on every handsome, single man who paid attention to her for two seconds.

Divya, Mike, and John were sad to see the unexpected guests go. They certainly made things interesting.

John was helping them with their luggage when Sherlock gasped.

"I forgot my scarf!"

"Really, Sherlock," Mycroft protested. "They can send it to you, we need to get going."

"But it's the one Mummy gave me; if she sees me without it, I'll never hear the end of it," Sherlock defended.

Mycroft closed his eyes. He slowly opened them and said, "Where did you leave it?"

"The bedroom!"

"I'll get it for you, Sherlock," John said.

"Thank you," came the chorus replies from the other three.

John just smiled and ducked back into the lodge.

"They get off okay?" Mike asked.

"Not yet," John said, shaking his head. "Sherlock forgot his scarf. Have you guys seen it?"

Mike and Divya shook their head. John went up to Molly who was making herself a sandwich and asked if she'd seen it.

"Sorry, John, I have a hard enough keeping track of my own things most of the time," she replied.

He thanked her and then went upstairs, he thought he'd search all the rooms, just be on the safe side. After all it could ended up with his brother's things. Or even the bathroom. He opened the door to the smallest bedroom and slumped against the door frame at the sight that greeted him.

Mary and David were tangled up in each other by the window. David held up her leg by the thigh, the other on her breast, Mary had her head thrown back in pleasure, her hands twisted in his hair.

"Fuck," John said from the doorway. They turned to the sound and then sprung from each other as if the other suddenly turned too hot to touch.

"John!" Mary cried, trying to pull her clothes back on.

"So this is why you didn't want to marry me, isn't it?" John accused. "It's a lot harder to have a bit on the side when you're planning a wedding."

"John, it's not like that!" Mary protested rushing to his side.

He held out both hands and turned his head away. "I can't believe you would do this to me, wasn't I good enough for you?"

A giggle bubbled to her lips before she could stop it. John's eyes snapped up and the small smile slipped off her face.

"I didn't mean to giggle, John," she pleaded. "It's just laugh or cry right now."

John closed his eyes and then opened them to reveal that they were filled with unshed tears.

"Oh, baby," Mary said putting her hand on his cheek. He jerked away.

"We're through."

All the while David looked on in grim satisfaction. "You were naive to think that you could hold a woman like Mary," he sneered. "Now toddle off. You weren't wanted anyway."

Mary whipped around, "David!" she hissed. "Not now!"

He laughed bitterly.

Mary turned around and John was gone.

She ran out to the room John had shared with Sherlock and Mike. She found him throwing his stuff into his duffle.

"John, don't do this," she pleaded again.

"You did this. Not me." He threw the last of his things into the bag. He spotted Sherlock's scarf on the floor and picked it up. "You know, I've been seeing the signs all weekend. But I kept thinking it was all one-sided. Plus all that bullshit with you being so awful to Sherlock. It was there in front of me the whole time." He shoved the scarf in his pocket.

"You can fuck off."

He came storming down the stairs and Mike and Divya leapt to their feet. "John?" Divya asked.

"I'm sorry to dash off like this, but I can't stay another minute with her," John snarled, pointing at Mary.

"Oh my god!" Mike cried, "What happened?"

"He did," John sneered, jutting his chin at David who arrived at the bottom the stair.

"You're cheating on John?" Molly asked from the kitchen area. "Mary, why would you do that?" Her lip quivered. Mary moved toward her to comfort her friend, but John used the motion to take off out the front door, snagging his coat on the way out.

Mycroft, Greg, and Sherlock were shocked when John came storming out, followed closely by everyone else in the lodge. Mary was begging John to stay, and there were some very tense faces.

"Well, I told you this would happen," Mycroft commented dryly to Greg.

"Yeah, well, shut it," Greg growled. "It was something he had to find out for himself."

"I wish I could find the right words," Sherlock lamented. That brought John up short.

Of course they knew. Sherlock had done the detective trick their first night. And Mycroft was smarter than Sherlock and Greg was a detective. They had figured it out. But they weren't to blame. Greg was right it was something he had to learn on his own.

He threw open the door to his car and sat down at the wheel. He cursed and leapt out, slamming the door behind him. "No petrol!"

He turned to Mary, his face a mask of pure fury. "I told you that we should have stopped at that last petrol station, but no, you wanted to press on. You said it was the weather, but you just didn't want David beating us there, did you?"

"John, please. Just calm down, you're overreacting now," Mary murmured.

"John," Mike said, tentatively. "We have petrol for the generator, I don't know if it's enough to get you to station, but–"

John didn't know where to look. He just wanted to be gone.

"You could come with us," Mycroft volunteered. Sherlock and Greg stared at him in shock. "I got a call from Mummy; she said to just go home. Apparently Her Majesty's favorite dog wet in Mummy's new slippers, and she's on her own way home."

"I'll make sure your car gets back to your flat," Molly said.

"Then how will I get home?" Mary protested.

"In David's car," everyone said at once, and for the first time since this whole thing started, Mary well and truly blushed.

"Thanks," John said to Molly, Mike, and Mycroft. He got his stuff and got in the back seat. Sherlock, Greg, and Mycroft slid into their seats and they all waved goodbye.

As they backed up through the narrow road, John settled back into the seat and sighed. This was the worst Christmas, ever.

He looked up just as they passed the sign to the lodge and he started to laugh.

They all looked at him as if he'd finally cracked.

John pointed to the sign. "That should have been my first clue that she was cheating on me."

"Columbine Lodge 1KM"

"I'm not sure I get you, mate," Greg said.

Mycroft chuckled. "In the Victorian language of flowers columbine is a symbol of faithlessness and deceived lovers." He looked in the rearview mirror at John. "I am surprised you know that, though, John."

"Dated a florist at uni," John replied.

"And she taught you?" Greg asked.

"Him. And no, I learned it to impress him," John huffed.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Sherlock in the mirror and the younger Holmes blushed.


	4. Part Two - This Christmas

**A/N: Hello, and welcome to week four of our lovely story! We have reached the part of our story that is about John falling in love with Sherlock.**

 **The original plan was to have an event every month that showed them falling more in love with each other. Only I got June and went "fuck it!" and threw my hand in the air in defeat. I just couldn't come up with twelve unique moments. So if the first two chapters feel tighter, time wise, that would be why. I also wanted to show Greg and Mycroft's wedding, but it just didn't fit in with the rest of story. Much to my dismay. :(**

 **This one is a bit angsty at the end, just remember, happily ever after is always the end game with me.**

* * *

Sherlock had offered his spare room for John to rent. It was a relief to have some place to go and with the help of the minions of Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, John had moved out was before Mary came back to the flat.

She harassed John for a of couple days, trying to get him to come back, but after John's refusal to even text back, she stopped.

It was a comfort to start the year in a new place with new company. He had even turned down Mike's invitation to his New Year's party. Instead, he and Sherlock shared a bottle champagne with their landlady, Mrs Hudson.

That had been the first time he had heard Sherlock play. _Auld Lang Syne_ danced on the air and settled into his heart. _Should old acquaintance be forgot?_ Yes! And this was the best time for it. New year, new flat, new John. He wasn't going to be caught up in this shit again.

Sherlock hadn't intended to let John know that his birthday was on the 6th of January but John had come home early from his shift at the surgery to hear Sherlock hissing into phone at Mycroft, "I am telling you in no uncertain terms that there is no way that am I spending time with our parents on _my_ birthday!"

Which prompted John to plan a birthday party for the lanky detective, much to Sherlock's obvious dismay.

After finding out that the only two numbers in Sherlock's phone book were his and Mycroft's, John did a little digging and found that the detective often alienated people with his deductions, as Sherlock called them. Other than his brother, Mycroft, and his fiancé, Greg, Sherlock didn't have a lot of people who would be willing to come, so John called a couple of his own friends.

He had called Molly first and she seemed too excited to come to a near stranger's birthday party. John was concerned that she was getting her hopes up for nothing. And he didn't want either of his friends hurt.

Mike and Divya were next. They were delighted to be invited. They hoped that they would see their unexpected guests again.

Before Mike rang off, he said, "I just wanted you to know that I kicked David and Mary out after you left."

John chuckled. "I figured you would. That's why I called you. You are a good friend and very loyal."

"And I plan on staying that way," Mike said firmly.

"Good," John agreed. "I'll see you at the party."

Everyone had arrived, but there was still no sign of the man himself.

John excused himself from a Molly that was being overly apologetic for Mary's behavior and said, "I'll be right back."

As he walked off he heard Greg joke, "Ten quid says that he can't convince Sherlock to come out."

Mike chuckled. "I'll raise you ten that not only will John get him out, he'll be mostly pleasant. John was in the army, after all."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "We'll see."

John knocked on Sherlock's bedroom door. There was a highly disgruntled sound that came from the other side that John decided to take as permission to come in. He pushed open the door and slipped in quietly, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock was stretched out on his bed, still in his bed clothes and in his thinking pose.

"You do realize there is a party in your honor out there, right?" John asked, leaning against the door, hands tucked behind his back.

"Dull," came the reply.

"Most people like celebrating their birthdays," John argued.

"I'm not most people, John, in case you haven't noticed..." Sherlock trailed off as he looked up at John.

Apparently the doctor had decided to dress nicely for Sherlock's party. He was wearing dark jeans, a blue plaid button up and a black v-neck jumper. Sherlock's pulse began to race as his mind threatened to derail.

"I'll tell you what," John said, coming further into the room, "if you come out fully dressed and are moderately polite, I'll let you do the experiment with the pigs feet. Which sounds vile, by the way."

Sherlock's mind hurried to catch up to what John was saying, but he nodded anyway. Going out there meant seeing more of John in this fantastic outfit.

"I'll be waiting outside for you so you can get dressed," John said turning for the door. "Then we can go out together." He slipped out and Sherlock was on his feet in an instant.

He'd wear one of his black suits with the purple shirt or maybe the blue one. No, wait! He went digging in the back of his closet. He pulled out a pair of black jeans and pulled them on. They still fit. He had bought them for a case a few months back for a disguise and hadn't worn them since. But they did wonders for his arse. He went for a classic white button up and paired it with a sports coat.

He looked in the mirror.

"Hurry up, Sherlock," John yelled through the door, "otherwise people will talk."

Sherlock chuckled and then unbuttoned a second button. There, that should do it. He slipped on his shoes and opened the door.

He knew the outfit had done its job when John licked his bottom lip slowly and then dragged his teeth over it, plumping it.

Things were going well until Sherlock accidentally deduced Molly's attraction to him in front of everyone.

Divya offered to take Molly home and the poor girl agreed.

Sherlock turned in dread to John, assuming that he was going to yell at him for Molly.

"That's wasn't very kind, Sherlock," John admonished, quietly. "Next time, don't do that in front of a crowd, eh?"

Sherlock blinked and even Mycroft looked stunned.

"I'll remember that," Sherlock promised.

And everyone was sure that he'd actually keep that promise.

The party went smoother after that. And Sherlock felt that maybe, just maybe, as long as John was around, he'd be happy to celebrate his birthday in the future.

* * *

"Come on, John!" Sherlock hollered. "We have to catch him!"

John picked up speed as he and Sherlock dashed through traffic.

"This way!" Sherlock hissed as he slipped into a blind alleyway, John, hot on his heels. They stormed up a couple flights of emergency escape staircases and onto the rooftop. Sherlock deftly leapt over the edge to the nearby building's rooftop.

"Sherlock!" John protested.

"We're losing him, John!" Sherlock replied.

John huffed out a disgruntled noise before taking his own running leap to the other building. He landed on his feet without so much as a steadying hand for balance. He raced to the far side of this building, where Sherlock was already leaping to the next. They barreled down this building's escape ladders and straight through to the street, where Sherlock slammed into their suspect.

He had come from an adjacent alley and Sherlock had headed him off by leaping through the air, apparently.

The man they had been chasing threw off Sherlock but ran right into the fist of one Dr John H Watson. John proceeded to wrestle him to the ground and pin him with his knee to the man's spine.

John looked up, his eyes sparkling from the thrill and asked, "You sure this is him? I mean, he doesn't look very strong. Those murdered blokes were massive, he doesn't look like he'd do much more than be annoyance for those guys."

Sherlock dusted himself off and said, "Looks can be deceiving. A fact that you should be far too aware of." He indicated to John's tatty jumper and well worn jeans with his chin.

John looked down at himself and then started to giggle. Sherlock's deep rumble joined in and soon they were both laughing.

"We can't giggle, it's a crime scene!" John hissed between laughs.

"Not yet it isn't," Sherlock replied.

Just then a police car came to a skidding halt on the curb. Lestrade stepped out and Sherlock smiled.

"Ah, and there is our Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock smirked. " _Now_ it's a crime scene."

Which started John giggling all over again.

Greg rolled his eyes. "I am dealing with a bunch of children!"

"Caught him, though," Sherlock defended.

"I let you out of my sight for two minutes and you catch my murderer by what, exactly? Tackling him to the ground?"

John huffed out a happy wheeze. "Well, Sherlock did the tackling, I just made sure he stayed down."

He got off their suspect and let Greg handcuff him. "By breaking his nose from the look of it," Greg said, his chin tilted up to get a better look at the guy's face.

John smiled. "Oh, I doubt I broke it. I'm a doctor. I know how to break bones. Trust me."

Greg opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. "You know, John, when you moved in, I thought you were going settle him down, not go tearing off after him."

John chuckled. "Have you met him?"

"And you're gonna tell me that you were just swept up in the moment and went along for the ride?" Greg huffed in disbelief.

John laughed. "It was a hell of a ride."

"Can we hurry this along?" Sally snapped from behind Greg. "Some of us actually have plans for tonight and would like to still make them."

Greg cocked his head. "Yeah well, it's a good thing that Mycroft was out of the country otherwise that little stunt you pulled wouldn't have worked."

Sherlock looked up innocently, "I don't know what you mean, Detective Inspector."

"Like hell you don't."

"What stunt?" John asked. "And why would Mycroft being out of town make a difference?"

"Because I would have had plans for Valentine's, too." Greg looked Sherlock dead in the eye, practically asking him to deny it.

"What, wait? It's Valentine's Day?" John asked. Everyone nodded but Sherlock, who looked away.

"So this whole chase thing was to distract me from being sad that Mary and I had broken up?"

Sherlock nodded, his eyes still downcast.

"Brilliant!"

Sherlock's head snapped up and looked up to see John smiling at him. He smiled back.

* * *

It had taken John a lot of work and maybe just a bit of emotional blackmail to get Sherlock to even agree to come out with John and his friends for John's birthday party. But now that he was out, he wished he had taken Sherlock's advice and stayed home.

The night had started out well enough; most of the friends who had said that they were coming had shown up. Molly. Mike and Divya. A few of his army mates that were in London. He really wanted Bill to be here, but the man who had saved his life was still out there saving lives in the Helmand province of Afghanistan.

Sherlock hadn't shown up, but John figured he'd be late in order to minimize the amount of time spent at the club.

No, what had gone horribly, horribly wrong was the fact that Mary had arrived at the club with a new boyfriend in tow. She clearly had a type. He was blond and on the shorter side, but the man was built like a brick house. On his forearm was a tattoo of the Royal Marines.

John wasn't sure what was worse, that she wasn't with David or how quickly the guy had been had been replaced. So he was currently hiding behind Mike, hoping that she wouldn't look his way.

Mike moved to his right and John followed. "For Christ's sake, John! You're behaving more like a six year old than a thirty-six year old. You're a grown man, so act like it."

"Why is she even here?" John lamented. "I thought she hated this club."

Mike looked over at Mary, who had her fingers wrapped around the meaty muscle of the Marine's arm. They both knew the reason. She had deliberately come out to make sure he saw that she was doing fine without him. The fact that John was trying to hide from her told Mary all she needed to know about the state of his heart.

Mike got up and went to the bar, leaving John exposed to Mary's view. She immediately caught his eye and smiled.

John took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut. He imagined that he could smell her perfume from here. He opened his eyes. Mary wasn't next to her latest conquest, she was out on the dance floor. She moved so slow and sensuously, John was entranced.

Most of his friends were trying to dissuade him, but the two people who could have succeeded weren't there at the moment. Mike had gone to get a beer and Sherlock still hadn't arrived.

Once John got to the dance floor, he started to dance her direction. His own movements becoming more heated, the closer he got. Soon they were close together, then they were dancing together.

John missed this. The way her body moved in sync with his. He wanted her. Even after all she'd done he still wanted her. If she kissed him, he fall in love all over again. He knew he was a fool, that she really didn't care about him.

They were dancing so close, they were almost breathing the same air. John wasn't sure what made him look up just then, but he wished he hadn't. Sherlock was standing at the door to the club and he looked stunned. Horrified, even. John went to go to him, but he was jerked back by a rather large hand. He was whirled around and found himself face to face with Mary's Marine.

"Oi!" the Marine grunted. "What the hell do you think you're doing with my girl?"

John looked at Mary and suddenly it all clicked. She had this look of glee on her face. Like she'd won. He had be taken in again. Mary didn't love him. She didn't love David or this poor bloke either. She just wanted to make men fight for her. She liked overt displays of masculinity.

John stepped back from her and she frowned. "She's not worth it, mate," he said bitterly. "She cheated on me with another bloke, and would have made me her this bitch this time."

"What the hell?" the Marine bellowed. "This true, Mary?"

"Of course, it's not, Jeff," Mary said, eyeing John now.

"Hell yeah, it is. But I'll tell you what, Jeff, let's you and I go back to my table, have a few beers with me and my friends, we can talk about our military service. I'm a former RAMC and we've got an Army engineer and a couple Navy blokes if you want to join us."

Jeff looked at Mary and then turned back to John. "You've got a deal."

"What?" Mary screeched.

John ignored her and led the way back to his table. He wished that Sherlock had stuck around for the whole thing, but the detective had left. And John had the feeling that everything had just gone to hell.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: And here we have the second to the last chapter, the resolution of the cliffhanger. It's a very fluffy. The whole thing. I hope you enjoy.**

 **Also you may have noticed that the rating has gone up a bit. That's because in the next chapter instead of John and Sherlock enjoying an ice lolly in summer heat, they decided to heat things up further. But that's in the next chapter so you'll have something to look forward to.**

 **Thanks as always to the wonderful Old Ping Hai.**

* * *

Hell was too kind a word for John's life. He didn't know what was worse than hell, but it had to be this. Sherlock wasn't the most tactile person John had ever met, but now completely bereft of any and all touches from the detective, apparently they had been far more frequent than he realized.

And John ached for it. The gentle brush of fingers as they passed each other things; tea, pens, phones. But now Sherlock went out his way to make sure that he grabbed the farthermost end of the object. The brushing of arms or hands as they walked down the street, gone now as Sherlock kept at least six inches from John. The pressing on John's back to make him go faster, now he was just left behind.

That wasn't even the worst of it. No, where Sherlock's jibes had been in defense of an unprovoked attack, these days he was on the offensive, turning his once silver tongue to barbs. John, himself, had rarely been the recipient, but when he was it was scathing. He was starting to wonder if he was going to have to give it all up as a loss.

But the fact that Sherlock still took him to crime scenes kept the candle of hope burning far brighter than it had any right to.

"Anderson!" Sherlock hissed as he danced around the room. "Where is her purse?" He wove around the room looking for her purse.

"Oi!" Greg huffed. "There was no purse, Sherlock."

"Where did you put it?" Sherlock growled. "Where is it?" He continued his dance about the room and John looked on in wonder. He loved this.

"There. Is. No. Purse," Greg bit out. "You told us not to touch the scene until you got here. And nothing has been moved. If there is a purse, it's not in plain view."

Sherlock's movements became erratic as he began to search in earnest. John just wanted to go up to the detective and put his hands over Sherlock's ears to block out part of the sensory overload that Sherlock must be experiencing. But he couldn't, so he looked on hopelessly.

John cleared his throat and lifted his chin, trying to choke back the tears that had threatened to fall.

Sherlock whirled around at the sound, and immediately John looked away.

He couldn't let Sherlock see how much this last month's estrangement had affected him. After all, it was his fault for chasing Mary when all he had to do was wait for Sherlock. The evening and their lives would be better than they were now.

Sherlock snarled and then "Oh!"

John looked up to see Sherlock dash out the room like a shot. John cursed and followed, fast on his heels.

"Her purse!" Sherlock hollered over his shoulder.

They hit the pavement and Sherlock hailed a cab. John was about to follow there, too, when Sherlock slammed the door in John's face.

"Hey!" John growled. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Chinatown!" Sherlock said, and the cabbie took that as directions and began to pull away from the curb.

"Why?" John asked jogging to keep up.

"Cocaine!" Sherlock shouted out the window.

John managed to get a kick in at the tire of cab before it outstripped him.

John punched out Greg's number and snarled into the phone what Sherlock had said.

"At least we know where he's going," Greg said. "What are you going to do?"

"Go home," John bit out bitterly. He hung up the phone and tried to find a cab, but they all just drove past him like he was invisible. He headed for the nearest Tube station but before he could make it to the shelter of the underground, the skies opened up and drenched him to the bone. There were no seats to be had on the train and the walk home was even more hellish than the walk to the Tube station.

He stormed up the stairs and was surprised to see Sherlock standing at the window composing. John couldn't figure out how Sherlock had beat him home, but he didn't care. All he wanted was a long, hot shower, a cup of tea, and a book by the fire.

"Ah, John," Sherlock said turning around. "Good, you're home. Go get changed. I have a lead on her purse and her murderer."

"No," John said, clenching his fists.

"No? What do you mean, no?" Sherlock sneered. "Did you not hear me say to go get changed?"

"Don't care. I'm soaked, I'm tired." John's nostrils flared.

"We don't have time for this," Sherlock snapped. "There is a murderer on the loose."

John licked his bottom lip and Sherlock barely suppressed a shudder. This wasn't the "aroused" lick; no, this was the "about to say something nasty" lick.

"You know, what?" John growled. "To hell with you." He turned on his heel and stormed out of the flat.

Sherlock followed him out to the pavement. "How much longer are you going languish over Mary?" he snarled.

"What?" John asked, his voice deadly calm as he turned around.

"She doesn't care about you, she never did," Sherlock sniped.

"Figured out that for myself, thanks," John ground out.

"And yet you pine for her like some Byronic hero," Sherlock insisted.

"Not her, you berk," John said, looking at the pavement. "You."

"Me?" the question came out as squeak.

John looked up and what he saw took his breath away. Sherlock was bedraggled. His hair was matted to his skull, his fancy clothes were ruined and clung to Sherlock's far too lean frame. He looked so vulnerable.

Suddenly, John had an armful of detective. A detective that was currently sobbing in his arms.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock whispered. "I couldn't stand it."

John rubbed circles into Sherlock's back. "I missed you."

"Forgive me," Sherlock pleaded.

"Always," John promised.

* * *

It was feast or famine when it came to Sherlock's touch, it seemed. Once Sherlock understood that it was the touches John missed the most, they came back tenfold. Sherlock couldn't pass John without trailing his fingers down some part of John's body.

There was above the belt when Sherlock needed to squeeze past him in the kitchen. Sometimes in the back, sometimes his sides. Down the arm when trying to get John's attention. From the wrist to the fingers when he'd take something from John's grasp. But there was one touch that John loved. The one he couldn't get enough of, the one that Sherlock did most frequently.

Whenever John was sitting down and Sherlock would walk past, he would brush his fingertips along the fringe of hair at the base of John's neck. It had the unfortunate side effect of driving John wild. His imagination ran amok with visions of other scenarios where Sherlock would have cause to run his fingers through John's hair.

Most of them involved being horizontal and the two of them having little to no clothes.

Of course, his imagination might have not been so fanciful if he knew whether or not he was allowed to touch back. Well, okay. He touched back. But just the regular touches from before his disastrous birthday party. Oh, how he wanted to do more. It was going to drive him mad.

He decided it was best to get out and go for a walk. Preferably before he jumped his flatmate. He stopped at the foot of the sofa and thought about telling Sherlock that he was going, but Sherlock was in his mind palace.

John shook his head fondly and just patted Sherlock's leg as he passed. He decided a nice walk around Regent's Park would be good for him. He walked to the bank of the lake and watched the swans. He kept his distance, though. He knew better than to get close. Swans were beautiful but real bastards.

John chuckled. A bit like Sherlock.

Damn it! John cursed in his head. Sherlock had invaded every corner of his mind. So much that he couldn't take a walk without thinking about the lean detective. He was about to give up and go back home, when crashing through a nearby bush came a large Mastiff with a long, blue scarf in its mouth.

John could see a lead flapping behind the great beast, but before he could lay a hand on it, a figure crashed through the same bush. It grabbed the lead, but instead of stopping the dog, it carried the man off his feet.

The extra weight on the lead did nothing to slow the animal in its escapade. John didn't want anyone hurt, so he stepped up in front of the charging Mastiff and said firmly, "Halt."

The Mastiff more surprised than anything else came to dead stop. The man looked up and muttered, "John?"

"Sherlock?" John asked, stunned. He shook his head and turned to the dog.

"Give."

The Mastiff whined, but handed over the scarf.

"Good boy," John said, stuffing the scarf in his pocket. "Down."

Again the beast whined, but did as he was told.

"Stay," came John's last command and the animal huffed, but did as he was told.

He pulled out the scarf out of his pocket and inspected it. It was a bit slobbery, but for the most part it was intact. The scarf had seen far worst things than inside of a dog's mouth.

A young woman came bounding over the bush, but skidded to a stop when she saw the scene in front of her.

Brutus was lying on the ground like that's what he had meant to do all along, and there were two men standing next to the dog. One was holding the scarf Brutus stole, he was standing ramrod straight, one arm tucked behind his back. The other was dusting himself off, wearing a suit that probably cost more than she made in a month.

More impressively, the short blond holding the scarf was reading Brutus quite the list of manners. Of which Brutus looked to be actually listening to.

"Brutus!" Donna called.

The Mastiff got up and loped over to her side. He looked up at her, perking up his ears a bit.

"Don't give me that look," Donna said sternly. "You know full well what you did." She turned to the two men. "Sorry about that, I'm watching him for a friend of mine while she's out of town. He behaves for her, but not me."

Brutus woofed.

"I love the bastard anyway," Donna said, kneeling down to scratch his ears.

"It's fine," John said.

Sherlock took the scarf from John and to everyone's surprise, wrapped around Brutus's neck. "It looks better on you, anyway." He winked at Brutus and the dog barked happily. Sherlock pet his head and said, "Next time you want something, just ask, hmm?"

"Aww, don't do that," Donna complained. "You'll spoil him."

Sherlock smiled. "All dogs need to be spoiled."

Donna shook her head and bade them goodbye.

"Well, aren't you as pretty as picture," John said with a chuckle.

Sherlock jerked his head back in confusion. "Huh?"

John reached up to pull a purple tulip from Sherlock's hair. He handed it to the detective.

Sherlock looked at the bloom mournfully. "Perhaps it should be yellow or white."

John carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair getting out the rest of the debris. "Purple is just fine, though red would be good, too. More forever or undying than one-sided or hopeless, I think."

Sherlock looked up at John, hopeful. "I think I'm in love with you," he admitted softly.

"Good," John said firmly. "Because I know I'm in love with you."

Sherlock took John's hand. "Let's go home, John."

"Yes," John agreed. "Let's."

* * *

It took John longer than he would have liked to convince Sherlock to come with him to Mike and Divya's wedding. It look a lot of begging, pleading, and maybe more emotional blackmail than was strictly fair. But he couldn't help it. He wanted to show up at this wedding where there would be a lot of his friends and show them that not only was he doing fine since Christmas, but that he was with Sherlock. Wasn't that just a kick in teeth? He couldn't believe how lucky he had been.

Although, the one thing that had convinced Sherlock to come was a promise. One, that John had a feeling meant more than what was on the surface.

John had promised to never leave Sherlock's side the whole night. And possibly their whole lives. The thought shook John to his core. But he'd promised.

So, there they were sitting at their table, his hand never leaving Sherlock's hand or leg or whatever it was that Sherlock needed to stay moored.

His friends came and congratulated him and asked if there was going to be one of _these_ in his future. Sherlock looked stricken, but John laughed.

"A bit soon for that, we just got together," John replied. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "We're in no rush."

Sherlock smile was all the confirmation John needed to know that he'd said the right thing.

Out of the corner of John's eye, he saw Sherlock starting to fidget, so he got up and took the detective's hand. They moved around the room, greeting the bride and groom, chatting with Molly and her new boyfriend. They watched the cutting of the cake, vaguely participated in the garter toss, (it went to Divya's brother, Bodhan) and stood, Sherlock's arms around John as they watched the happy couple's first dance.

But soon it was time for Mike's plan. John had been against it, but Mike insisted Sherlock needed a grand gesture.

He excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Sherlock had been on edge all night. He knew that John would keep his promise of staying close by him all night. But as the night wore on Sherlock couldn't help but think that if Mary were here, John wouldn't be as obliging.

Every time he felt that he was holding John back from socializing, the doctor would stand up and off they'd go.

John's hand was ever present. In his hair, in his hand, on his thigh. It infused Sherlock with a warmth that nestled in his chest.

When John excused himself to go the restroom, Sherlock had to clamp down on the emotion that this was it, John wasn't going to come back.

Suddenly the music changed and the crowd parted. There in the spotlight was John Watson wearing a flower in his buttonhole and holding out his hand out to him.

As he neared John, Sherlock could see that the flower was a lychnis viscaria.

"Dance with me, Sherlock," John breathed. Sherlock took John's hand and the doctor pulled him in so they were chest to chest.

"A bit much, don't you think?" Sherlock murmured as they started to sway to the music.

"What? The flower?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. "I figure we speak better with flowers than anything else."

Sherlock chuckled. "Then why did you ask me to dance if the flower was doing it for you."

"I wanted no doubts, Sherlock. None at all," John explained.

"And I have none."

"Anymore," John replied.

"Evermore."

John knew then, that Mike had been right, Sherlock Holmes required grand gestures. He really needed to thank his friend.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is it, the last chapter. I'm doing this before I go to bed because I won't have time to do it tomorrow with all the cleaning and shopping I have to do for my husband's birthday party.**

 **I hope you guys have enjoyed this wild ride with me. I'm always sad when a story comes to a close, but coming up next is a Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries crossover with Sherlock set in the 1920s. Then at long last the sequel to Death and Youth. Then for a treat, a fusion with the movie 10 Things I Hate About You starring the Holmes brothers as Kat and Bianca. I also have 20 billion other ideas swirling around in my head. Including one I came up with today, a fusion with The Wizard of Oz.**

 **This is where the story earns its newly minted mature rating. If that's not your thing, skip down to the first line break and you won't be missing anything other than sexy times. Though why you'd want to...*shrug***

 **Thanks as always to my chief cheerleader, friend, and best beta on the planet, Old Ping Hai. Seriously though. If you guys liked this story, you should thank her, too. It would have never been finished without her.**

* * *

It was too damn hot to live, let alone move. The unfortunate thing was that the criminal classes thought the same thing and there hadn't been a decent case in weeks. Which left Sherlock cranky and irritable. Worse, it left him bored. And that meant hell for literally everyone else.

John was coming back from the shops when he heard the first shot. He ran up the stairs fearing the worst. While it wasn't death and destruction, it was Sherlock shooting at the walls, and that's bad enough.

"What the hell, Sherlock!" John yelled, and slammed the door behind him.

"Bored!" Sherlock shot at the wall again, this time from behind his back.

John disarmed him with a deft movement and then proceeded to empty the clip and chamber.

"What did the wall do to you?"

"Oh," Sherlock murmured, walking across the floor to step on the coffee table and over to the sofa where he traced the bullet holes with his finger. "The wall had it coming."

"Mrs Hudson is going to give you hell for that," John reminded him as he put away his pistol.

Sherlock flopped on the sofa gracefully, his silk robe fluttering around him. "Bored!"

"I got the ice lollies you like," John said hopefully as he turned around and stopped. He finally took in his lover. Sherlock was wearing his robe and it seemed very little else. The robe sought the floor and the one side had slid off Sherlock's shoulder, revealing a "V" of pale skin, his nipple barely peeking from the swath of fabric.

John licked his lip and gulped hard.

"Why is it so hot?" Sherlock complained. "Oh my god!" One hand fell to the floor, while the other he draped dramatically over his eyes like a swooning maiden. He lifted his knee and the bottom length of the robe dove to the ground exposing the long line of his legs and a hint of the black pants he wore.

Sherlock was the very image of sin and John ached for a taste.

Sherlock moved his hand off his eyes and looked at John, confused. He had been expecting to get some kind of pity from John, but when there was silence he looked up. "What?"

John's head snapped up, caught out. Sherlock's gaze turned calculating and then to outright smoldering. John never stood a chance.

Sherlock untied the belt and the rest of the robe drooped gracefully to the floor. Sherlock's entire right side was uncovered, as the sleeve pooled at his wrist.

John took a step forward.

Sherlock ran his other hand down his chest and over his abdomen to stop just above the band of his pants.

John took another step forward like a moth being drawn to a flame.

Sherlock sat up and shrugged his other arm out of the robe and moved the rest of it to the side. He threw his head back and moaned.

John dropped to his knees. He was mere feet away from his love, but his legs wouldn't support him anymore. So he prowled toward Sherlock like a tiger hunting its prey. Sherlock moaned again and John gave up prowling for an ungainly half-scramble. He stopped at the edge of the sofa and ran his hands over Sherlock's thighs, breathing heavily.

"Oh you beautiful creature," he murmured. "I'm going to make you feel so good."

"John!" Sherlock screamed as John's hands reached the edge of his pants.

John grabbed the band of the underwear and pulled them completely off, Sherlock bucking his hips to aid in the process. Once the pants were gone, John buried his face into Sherlock's crotch.

Sherlock's hips bucked for an entirely different reason. John rose with the movement, taking his lover's cock into his mouth.

"John!"

The doctor slipped off his cock with a small slurp.

"Please!" Sherlock begged. "I need you up here."

John kissed his thigh and stood up. He undressed as quickly as he could and then crawled up the sofa between Sherlock's legs.

Sherlock threw back his head and groaned. John took that opportunity to place a kiss on that beautiful neck. Sherlock sighed happily as John ground down, finally getting the friction he'd been seeking. He wrapped his arms around John and pulled him down so that they were flush together.

John let out a small chuckle. "I love you, too. But this position doesn't allow for much movement." He rolled his hips to drive the point home.

Sherlock moaned, one hand grasping the back of John's neck and his other running up and down John's arm.

John's eyebrows shot up. "I'm guessing at this point you don't need much to get off?"

"Please, John. Don't tease."

John kissed him. "Never, darling." He buried his head into Sherlock's throat and began sucking as he repeated the movement with his hips. Undulating and writhing, they panted and moaned, their pleasure making them breathless with want and need.

Sherlock came with John's name on his lips, the doctor kissing him through his release.

"Stunning, just absolutely stunning," John gasped. "Turn over, love." He moved back so that Sherlock could hasten to obey, arse in the air.

John had to stop for a moment. The sight before him was glorious. Those gorgeous globes just begging to be fondled.

John grabbed that arse and moved his cock between them. Sherlock and John groaning together. While John took his pleasure, Sherlock worked on opening his hole, using his come and sweat to prepare himself for John.

"Ready, dearest?" John asked as he was nearing his own climax.

"Yes," came the breathy reply.

John pressed in and bit off a curse. Sherlock was so tight he nearly came, and even then all it took was a few well timed thrusts and John was coming inside of his lover. They collapsed on the sofa, twisting to twine around each other on the narrow surface.

"Hmm," Sherlock murmured into John's ear. "That was a good cure for the boredom, but I'm hotter than ever!"

John chuckled. "Mhmm, but there's always a cold shower to get both clean and cool."

Sherlock was up like shot, dumping John on the floor. He was nearly to bathroom when he called over his shoulder, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

John chuckled and got up. He cleaned up their mess of clothes and he smiled when he heard the shower turn on. He picked up the ice lollies and put them in the ice box, then finally made his way to the bathroom. He felt happier than he had in ages.

* * *

It was Christmas again and John couldn't believe what a year it had been. If someone had told him back then that this year he would be in a relationship with a completely mad detective, he would have laughed, then punched them.

He had been so sure that Mary was the one. So certain that the wedding he would attend was his own. Maybe Mike's, but not Greg's. He had become friends with the Detective Inspector. In fact, he had several police friends. He had a new life now. He was still friends with Mike and Divya. Molly, too. But he had new friends, people that he never thought that he would be friends with. Like the one that had gone from flatmate to friend, and finally lover. A mad man called Sherlock Holmes.

Greg, Mycroft, Sally, Phil. It was funny actually. Molly seemed to bridge both sets of friends. She had come out of her shell in the last year. She even had a couple of boyfriends. One turned out to be gay and the other was a poor man's Sherlock Holmes, so frankly no one was surprised when that blew up in her face.

She was going to bring her latest boyfriend to the Christmas party. John really hoped this one was a keeper. He wanted her to be as happy with this new fellow as he was with Sherlock. Not that he thought that was possible.

John was out doing the last part of his Christmas shopping. Normally he didn't let it get this close to Christmas, but this gift was special. It was for Sherlock. He was coming out of the shop when he ran into the last person he expected to see. Mary. She was arm in arm with David, clearly at least four months pregnant.

"Mary!" The words were out of John's mouth before he could stop them.

She looked over, but recognition never lit her features.

"John, John Watson," he helpfully supplied.

That's when it hit her and her eyes went wide.

"Didn't you recognize me?" John goaded.

She shook her head.

"It's been a year," John said. "It doesn't surprise me."

"You look good," Mary said and David glared at her.

John laughed. "I feel good," he agreed.

"You seeing anyone?" she asked. David kicked her ankle. She turned to him, incredulous. "What? I'm just asking."

"Oh yeah, I'm seeing someone," John replied with a smirk.

Mary hissed "See?" David looked down sheepishly, feeling a rush of relief.

John's phone beeped signaling he got a call.

"Speak of the devil," John said with a laugh. "Hello, love. You know where I am, you berk. I'm getting your present. Oh I don't know, how about you decorate the flat? If you're good, I'll bring home some real holly and mistletoe for you to experiment with once the people have gone. See? Now was that so hard? Of course it was. Love you, too." He hung up the phone. Mary and David were staring at John like he'd gone around the bend.

"That's Sherlock for you," John explained, phone still in his hand.

"Sherlock?" David asked, sneering. "That skinny kid that had a crush on you last Christmas?"

John laughed rocking back on his heels. "He's hardly a child; he's thirty. But yes, him." He was suddenly buzzing with joy and excitement.

Mary's face took on a pitying expression. "Oh, John." She reached out to touch his arm.

"You tore me apart, Mary," John said, taking a step back to avoid her grasp. "But you'll never fool me again. I know what love looks like now."

He went searching through his phone and then turned it so they could see. It was a photo that Greg had snapped while they were on some case or another.

John's back was to the camera, but Sherlock's face was in sharp relief. This was the face of a lover with fire in his heart. David and Mary gasped. There was no doubt that Sherlock loved John.

"That's what I have now."

John turned and walked away, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

* * *

The party was going better than expected, Sherlock thought. John promising that he could test the toxicity of the holly versus the mistletoe, and that wasn't even his present, had kept his mouth from running too far. He had John's present in his breast pocket and it was making him nervous.

Sherlock went to top off his drink in the kitchen. He was grateful that it was empty of guests as he filled his drink and downed it in one go. He slammed it on the counter, gripping the glass tightly.

"Someone's nervous," Mike said from the doorway.

Sherlock whirled around. "Oh God, if you've noticed then he has too!"

"Nah," Mike said, coming further into the room. "It doesn't show when you're out there." He tossed his head the direction of the party.

"Thank goodness." Sherlock turned around and filled his glass again.

"Good idea of John's to have the party here," Mike said, changing the subject. "Not much of a chance of random people showing up. They'd have to go through Mrs Hudson and she's more formidable than a measly blizzard." Sherlock chuckled. "Though, party crashing worked well enough for you."

Sherlock turned around to face the chubby doctor. "My whole life has changed, and I just want to thank him."

Mike indicated to Sherlock's breast pocket. "That's a good place to start."

Sherlock looked away shyly. "Do you think he'll say yes?"

Mike looked over his shoulder and then back at Sherlock. "You like experiments, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Text him. It could be anything. Just text him."

Sherlock got out his phone and sent off a message.

"Now come here, watch his face," Mike directed. Sherlock walked out to stand by the door.

John got out his phone with a frown, and then his face lit up. He smiled warmly at his phone, before looking around for Sherlock.

John mouthed when he found him, "I love you, too."

Sherlock was struck by how that simple gesture warmed his chest more than the whiskey he had just downed.

"The answer is yes," Mike said. Sherlock looked up at him sharply.

"Of course he's going to say yes, Sherlock," Mike said. "Now go get him." He thumped Sherlock on the back and stood to the side to let Sherlock pass.

Sherlock went out into the crowd. He stopped to give Mrs. Hudson a kiss on the cheek. He nodded to Mycroft, who was talking to Molly's boyfriend, Brandon. He was an artisan glass maker who had his own shop. Molly and Divya were in the corner, chatting about something. When Molly spotted Sherlock she waved her left hand and Sherlock caught a glimpse of metal on her ring finger. He gave her a broad smile, but was secretly grateful that Brandon had asked her before the party, so this moment could be his and John's alone.

Sherlock tapped Greg's shoulder and the Detective Inspector grinned before moving to stand by his husband's side.

Sherlock led John to the center of the room.

"What's this, love?" John asked.

"John Watson," Sherlock began. "You have brought light to my life in ways I never thought possible, but more than your own glow, you are my conductor of light. Everything I thought to be abhorrent: love, sentiment, desire–you have shown me to be the greatest of assets. I was told that I was heartless, but it turns out that you held it in your hands all along." Sherlock cleared his throat and his lower lip quivered ever so. "Will you marry me?" He pulled out the ring and John gasped.

"Yes!" John threw his arms around Sherlock and kissed him soundly.

Sherlock pointed up and John saw that they were under the mistletoe.

"Oh, you bastard," John growled, and snogged his fiance senseless to roaring cheers of their friends.

"Happy Christmas, John."

"Happy Christmas, Sherlock."

That night, when everyone had gone, John gave Sherlock his present.

"I know you got it from Brandon's shop," Sherlock admitted.

"Well, I was never going to hide that from you, so I didn't try." He handed the beautifully wrapped present to Sherlock. Sherlock opened it to find an anatomically-correct heart paperweight.

"John, it's beautiful," Sherlock murmured as he held it to the light.

"It's one of a kind," John explained.

Sherlock's eyes darted around the heart and gasped, "It's yours!"

"Yep, I had Mike and Molly help with the scan and then Brandon turned the scans into art." He snuggled in close to Sherlock. "You gave me your heart with that lovely proposal, and as literally as I could, I gave you mine. I love you so much."

"I love you, too. Forever, John," Sherlock whispered.

Last Christmas, John had given Mary his heart. This year he cast it in glass and asked Sherlock not to break it, physically or metaphorically. And as he watched the colors from the glass light Sherlock's face, John knew that it was in safe hands.


End file.
